


Three's Company

by AGirlNamedEd



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: M/M, devolves into sex, or a soap opera, totally not a sitcom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:19:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGirlNamedEd/pseuds/AGirlNamedEd
Summary: When Vegeta shows up at Yamcha's apartment in the middle of the night, Yamcha first assumes he's had a fight with Bulma and needs somewhere to go. When that turns out not to be the case, it raises a whole slew of questions. Why is Vegeta there? Why is he acting so weird? Why is Yamcha so okay with it?





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title doesn't have a lot to do with anything tbh it was suggested to me and I'm going with it XD
> 
> So people were talking on Discord lately about Vegeta/Yamcha and this happened. Whoops.
> 
> Dedicated to spiritbathbomb because she is DA BOMB (sorry Spirit I love you)

Yamcha folded his arms at the Saiyan standing in the middle of his living room carpet. Vegeta folded his arms right back and glared. Puar hovered nearby, tail twitching worriedly.

Finally, Yamcha sighed and broke eye contact to rub at his forehead. “Alright, Vegeta, you mind telling me _why_ you’re here at two in the morning?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything” came the immediate response.

“You do if you want me to do anything for you!” Yamcha shot back. “You got in a fight with Bulma, didn’t you?” Vegeta straightened indignantly. “Yeah, you did. Don’t forget, I dated her before you did.”

“We never _dated_ ,” Vegeta sneered.

“Sure, whatever. I don’t care.” Yamcha pointed to the bathroom. “Go have a shower or whatever. I’ll leave you some clothes out here. You can sleep on the couch tonight, but in the morning you’re gone, got that?”

He fully expected Vegeta to argue, or at least get huffy and demand that as a _prince_ he should have the bed, but to his surprise he only hunched his shoulders and stomped into the bathroom. Yamcha was surprised, if pleasantly so. “Keep it down, will you?” he added. “My neighbors are trying to sleep.”

Vegeta responded by slamming the bathroom door. And that, Yamcha wasn’t surprised by.

~~~

Yamcha slept fitfully the rest of the night, and his alarm went off too early for his liking. He debated pulling the covers over his head and avoiding his responsibilities, but Puar was worse than any alarm and pestered him until he got up.

“You’re the one who decided he wanted to start getting up early like a reasonable adult,” she reminded him. “Plus there’s an angry troll in the living room.”

“What?” Yamcha said groggily. Oh, right. Vegeta. He didn’t hear anything breaking in the other room, so he assumed he was still asleep. Yamcha swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. “I guess I’d better deal with that.”

He crept down the hall of the tiny apartment on the balls of his feet and peered into the living room. Vegeta was curled up on the couch, wrapped in the blanket Yamcha had left for him, looking like he was in a far better state than he’d been just a few hours ago. Yamcha relaxed. At least he wasn’t up and demanding breakfast.

It was funny, seeing Vegeta asleep. Most people looked more relaxed and loose when they slept. Yamcha remembered the first time Bulma fell asleep in his arms, watching the tension drain from her face and body, her entire being slowly relaxing into his. He remembered camping out with Tien once when he needed somewhere to stay, being unable to sleep and instead watching Tien, his arm tucked under his head, all three eyes lightly closed and the rise and fall of his chest hypnotically slow. Vegeta, on the other hand, still looked like he would choke the life out of anyone who dared wake him. His hands clutched the blanket as though afraid someone would try to take it from him. His brows were furrowed and his jaw clenched. Yamcha sighed. Even in sleep Vegeta would never allow himself to let his guard down. The guy needed to relax.

Yamcha’s stomach growled, and he grimaced at the sudden memory that he needed to go grocery shopping. Vegeta was asleep now, but if Yamcha’s experience with Goku was any indication he’d be nothing short of starving when he woke up. And he’d definitely be more demanding about it than Goku.

Well, hopefully he had a little time before Vegeta actually woke up. He hastily scrawled a note and left it on the table with a box of cereal and snuck out of the apartment with Puar.

“I thought you didn’t like Vegeta,” Puar commented as they headed down the street towards the 24-hour supermarket.

“I don’t.”

“Why are you being nice to him, then? Letting him sleep on the couch, buying food for him…”

Yamcha shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I can relate, you know? When Bulma and I were dating we had our fair share of blow-ups. And there was always someone there to help me out—listen to my problems, let me crash at their place, whatever. Vegeta doesn’t really have that—I mean, he’s mellowed out a lot since—” He swallowed. He wasn’t quite ready to talk about the Cell Games yet. “But yeah, most of the others can’t stand him. I know Tien still hates him. Anyway, I figure it’s my turn to be that someone, you know? Be the guy that others have been for me.”

Puar shook her head. “You’re going to regret it.”

“Probably. But hey, if nothing else, getting him on my side means he’s less likely to randomly try to murder me.”

~~~

Vegeta glared at him from the couch when Yamcha and Puar got back, carrying overflowing grocery bags. “Where were you?”

Yamcha hefted his bags onto the kitchen counter. “Take a wild guess.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Didn’t you get my note?” He glanced at the table—to his surprise, the cereal box was untouched, as was everything else in the kitchen. “I said I was going out to get food and that in the meantime there was cereal.”

Vegeta glowered and kept himself wrapped in his blanket. “I don’t like cereal.”

“Bullshit; I’ve seen you eat it before.” Yamcha shook his head. “Well, whatever. I’ll make you breakfast, and then you have to leave.”

Vegeta actually looked bewildered at that. “Leave? Where?”

“I don’t know. That’s your problem. You can go back to Capsule Corp or go live in a tent in the woods for all I care. But you can’t stay here forever.”

“I don’t _want_ to go back to that place.”

Yamcha raised an eyebrow at him as he tied an apron around his waist. “You don’t want to go back to the place you’ve been living for going on five years now, with free room and board and, most importantly, food? I only get so much from baseball endorsement deals, man. You’re going to eat me out of house and home.”

Vegeta looked around with a sneer. “I’d hardly call this a _house_.”

“Oh, har-de-har. Now you’re a comedian, too.” Yamcha shook his head. “Why are you here, Vegeta?”

“None of your business.”

“It sort of is. If you want to keep living here, you’re telling me why.”

Vegeta went quiet, drawing his knees up and glaring at a spot on the floor like it had personally offended him. Yamcha sighed and went back to preparing breakfast. He didn’t really feel like preparing a full meal, but he felt even less like dealing with Vegeta’s whining if he was still hungry at the end of it, so he fired up the rice cooker. Hopefully he’d bought enough for everybody.

“I don’t know.”

Yamcha glanced back at Vegeta, still on the couch, still glaring at that spot on the floor. “Pardon?”

“I said I don’t know.” Vegeta’s voice was hollow, honest. “When I left Capsule Corp last night, I needed somewhere to go…and you were the only one I could think of.”

Something in Yamcha’s chest twinged at that. This wasn’t like Vegeta. He never talked about feelings, he was never this unguarded. Not even, as Yamcha had found out, when he was asleep. It was…surreal. “Oh,” he said carefully. “I see.”

Vegeta snorted and turned to look at him, and Yamcha’s face flushed. “No you don’t. You have no idea.”

Yamcha shrugged and turned back to the stove. “Well I _can’t_ understand if you won’t _let_ me.”

Vegeta said nothing and Yamcha finished preparing breakfast in silence.

~~~

“Bulma, I am literally _begging_ you. Tell me what’s going on.”

Her sigh echoed over the phone receiver. “I told you, nothing. We didn’t even have an argument this time.”

“You didn’t?” Yamcha frowned. Vegeta was in the shower again, probably using up all Yamcha’s hot water, and Yamcha had taken the opportunity to call Bulma without Vegeta listening in. “Then why is he here?”

“Have you tried asking him? I have no idea how that brain of his works. He just…in the middle of the night, I came in from the lab and found him in the kitchen, staring into space. I asked him what was wrong and he said he had to go. Then he left.”

Yamcha ran a hand through his hair. “Great. So he’s in one of _those_ moods.”

“Yep. Tell him to come back when he’s ready, okay?”

“Bulma, if I do that, he’ll eat me out of house and home before he goes.”

He could practically hear her smiling on the other end of the line. “I’d hardly call that place a _house_.”

“You two deserve each other,” he snapped before slamming the receiver down and burying his hands in his hair. Great. So he was stuck with Vegeta until he decided to leave. And he still didn’t understand why he was here.

Why had he even left Capsule Corp if nothing was wrong? And why did he pick Yamcha’s place to crash at?

Well, actually, he could guess at the second one. He glanced at the mountain of dishes from lunch and sighed. Never tell a Saiyan you knew how to cook.

~~~

“Where are you going?”

Yamcha grimaced and adjusted his collar in the mirror. “I’m presenting at an awards show.”

“What? Why?”

“I know you don’t really care about the rest of us, but you could at least _pretend_ you’re interested in the life of the guy you’ve decided you’re living with.” Yamcha glared at Vegeta’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. Vegeta was leaning on the doorway, arms folded. It had been three days since Vegeta was kicked out of Capsule Corp. He’d made no efforts to go see Bulma that Yamcha knew of, only leaving the apartment to train. He spent the days training, doing pushups on the living room floor, and following Yamcha around.

Yamcha wasn’t sure why he let him stay. Pity only went so far. And it wasn’t like he would do this for just any old boyfriend of Bulma’s.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Vegeta _wasn’t_ just any old boyfriend of Bulma’s, he was the father of her son, and someone Yamcha had fought alongside (however begrudgingly).

And…well, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t snuck a few peeks at Vegeta while he was doing his pushups. _Wow._

“You haven’t answered my question,” Vegeta said, interrupting Yamcha’s embarrassing line of thought. “Why are you presenting at some award? It’s not like you have any kind of scientific prowess like she does, and you’re not a good enough fighter to get that kind of prestige.”

“Gee, thanks,” Yamcha snapped, turning to face him and leaning on the sink vanity. “It might surprise you to know this, but I was a Tenkaichi Budokai semifinalist no less than _twice_. Eat that.”

Vegeta looked at him blankly. “I don’t know what any of those words mean.”

“I hate you.”

He smirked. “No, you don’t.”

Yamcha’s stomach twisted as he realised that no, he didn’t hate Vegeta. Why? He had every right to—this guy was responsible for Yamcha dying, and Tien and Chiaotzu and Piccolo. He’d tried to kill Gohan, a literal child, with absolutely no qualms whatsoever, and Yamcha had lost count of the number of times he’d declared he was going to kill Goku. (To be fair, though, most of them had nursed that dream at some point or another.) He’d knocked up Yamcha’s ex (who he still cared about, even if he didn’t love her anymore) and didn’t even have the decency to stick around and be a father half the time.

But he was getting better, slowly. After the whole Cell disaster, he went back to Capsule Corp with Bulma, tried to spend time with Trunks, was generally less angry with people. Yamcha had to wonder how much of that was from seeing the Trunks of the future die, how much was from finally realising the gap between himself and Goku, and how much was Vegeta just…growing as a person.

“Well, whatever.” Yamcha tried to play it off and pushed past Vegeta to head for the door. “It’s an award show for pro sports. I used to be a big name in baseball right before you showed up.”

Vegeta frowned, but it was more confused than angry. “What’s baseball?”

Yamcha grinned as he tied his shoes. “How have you lived here so long and not heard about the _best sport ever_? We’ve gotta fix that.”

“Sounds boring,” Vegeta sniffed, but there was an air about him that indicated otherwise. Yamcha was starting to get a little better at reading Vegeta over the last three days. He was too proud to admit he was interested in what someone else had to say.

“Whatever, Your Surliness.” Yamcha stood and grabbed the cue cards for his speech. “I’ll be back later.”

“Later when?”

Yamcha paused, one hand on the doorknob. “What?”

“I want to know when you’ll be back.” Vegeta looked away. “I might get hungry.”

That wasn’t the whole problem; Yamcha could tell. But he didn’t have time to push Vegeta further. “I don’t know, around midnight probably? There’s going to be an after party and I’ll probably be there for a few hours catching up with people. There’s leftover onigiri in the fridge, and if you want anything else ask Puar to order something in.” He pointed at Vegeta in what he hoped was a firm manner. “Do _not_ try to cook anything yourself or so help me I _will_ find a way to put your ass in the ground for good.”

Vegeta sneered. “You’ll try.”

“Whatever. Be nice to Puar while I’m gone.” He slammed the door behind him for good measure.

What the hell was wrong with Vegeta? One minute he was acting all weird, worried, honest, the next he was closed off and snappy again. Yamcha sighed as he climbed the stairs to the roof, his usual takeoff spot. He hoped Vegeta sorted out whatever he was going through soon and got off his couch. It’d be nice to be able to use his living room again.

~~~

“Yamcha! Long time no see!”

He turned with a huge grin to see an old friend saunter up behind him. “If it isn’t Mr. Baseball himself!” Yamcha clapped a hearty hand on the man’s shoulder. “How are you, Yuudai?”

Yakamoto Yuudai shrugged. “Better now that that whole fancy red carpet crap is over. Hey, how come you never came back to baseball? With my pitching and your swing, we could’ve cleaned up every year at the world cup!”

“Oh, you know.” Yamcha waved vaguely. “Life gets busy, you know? Baseball always ended up getting put on the back burner.”

“Well, listen.” Yuudai held out a card. “I’m actually the Taitans’ manager now. If you’re ever interested, and your swing is as good as it used to be—” he winked— “give me a shout.”

Yamcha took the card hesitantly. “Ah, thanks, Yuudai. You’re the best.”

Yuudai shook his hand. “Well, I’ve gotta head out, but I hope I’ll hear from you soon! Not getting any younger, you know!”

“Sure.” Yamcha gave him a thumbs up. “See you later.”

Yuudai was gone with a wave and Yamcha slumped in his seat. The after party was…kind of boring. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Even when he was actually in the baseball scene, he’d never really enjoyed it. Sure, the fame was nice, and the pay was _great_ , but other than that…there wasn’t much of a challenge for someone as powerful as him. And he didn’t know most of the people at the party—there was Yuudai, of course, and an old coach who used to give him the heebie-jeebies, and a few other faces Yamcha recognised from different teams, but that was about it. And the food wasn’t even that good.

He checked his watch. It was half-past twelve, and he figured he’d stayed for at least the socially required time. His heart skipped when he realised how late he’d stayed out. He’d left Puar at home alone with Vegeta for that long? She was going to skin him alive when he got back.

Yamcha stood and made his way towards the exit. He was starting to get kind of tired anyway. Yuudai was right—he wasn’t getting any younger. He really was turning into an old man who couldn’t stay up past nine anymore. The thought was depressing.

As he approached the entrance, familiar shouting caught his attention. Yamcha cringed. Oh no.

“I don’t _care_ about your damn guest list!” Vegeta, wearing Yamcha’s too-big sweatpants and nothing else, was yelling at an impressively unruffled bouncer. “I’m just going in to drag one of them out—”

“Vegeta,” Yamcha said, holding his hands up placatingly as he walked over, “what’s going on? Did something happen?”

“You know this guy, Mr. Yamcha?” the bouncer asked. “He’s been here for ten minutes. Says he’s gotta talk to you about something.”

Yamcha sighed. “And you didn’t come get me because…?”

“Didn’t believe him. Besides, I’m not wading through that crowd trying to find one person.”

They were interrupted by Vegeta grabbing Yamcha’s upper arms. “Where the hell were you?! You said you’d be back by midnight!”

“I said _around_ midnight!” Yamcha flushed with embarrassment—this was a very public, very media-heavy place to have an argument like this. “Vegeta, not now. Let’s go.”

“You’re damn right we’re going,” Vegeta muttered, turning and yanking Yamcha along by his wrist, dragging him down a nearby alleyway. “ _Should’ve_ been going half an hour ago, but _no_ , I had to track you down _here_ —”

“Vegeta! Knock it off!” Yamcha pulled his arm away. “I was on my way home, dammit!”

Vegeta shoved him and Yamcha stumbled back into the alley wall. “Didn’t look like it from what I saw!”

“Cut it out, asshole!” Yamcha folded his arms. “What the hell are you even doing here? How did you know where I even _was_?”

“You’re not an idiot, so don’t act like one.” Yamcha blinked. That was one of the first compliments he’d ever heard Vegeta give. Backhanded, for sure, but still. “I followed your ki.”

“You followed my—that’s called _stalking_ , Vegeta!”

“We live together! It’s not stalking!”

“ _It kind of is!_ ” Yamcha pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, you’re not in charge of where I go and what I do. You’re not my dad.”

Vegeta huffed. “Of course not. But you _said_ —”

“Why are you even so concerned?” Yamcha propped his hands on his hips. “You usually don’t care one way or another. Why should you care if I’m home when I said I’d be?”

“I—” Vegeta wavered. “You—I—I was hungry,” he said lamely.

“And I told you what to do if that happened.” He tapped his foot, waiting for an answer. “Well? Why do you care so much, Vegeta? And while we’re at it, why me? Why did you come to me, to my apartment, leaving Bulma and Trunks behind with no explanation? It can’t just be because I can cook—Capsule Corp has some of the world’s best chefs working for them. What, did you have an existential crisis at two in the morning and decide the best way to deal with it was by coming and bothering me?”

“It wasn’t my intention to _bother_ you, Yamcha.” Vegeta scowled.

At the use of his name, Yamcha flinched. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Vegeta call him by his name before. He had names for everyone—“the idiot,” “the brat,” “Kakarott,” “the green one”—and Yamcha was so used to Vegeta never calling him by his actual name that hearing it was—

It was nice, actually, despite the shitty situation.

“Then what?” Yamcha asked. “ _What is going on, Vegeta?_ ”

Vegeta’s jaw clenched and he stared up at Yamcha, eyes hard, for a long minute. “I don’t know,” he said steadily, and before Yamcha could press him further he’d taken to the sky.

~~~

Yamcha didn’t sleep well. He tossed and turned and eventually Puar got up from where she was trying to sleep at the foot of the bed to sleep in the living room’s armchair instead. He felt awful and he wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t _meant_ to chase Vegeta off, but he needed an answer. What the hell was up with Vegeta? He’d acted like an overprotective father, or a jealous boyfriend. Yamcha had been the jealous boyfriend before—he knew the type.

Suddenly he sat bolt upright in bed. No. That was stupid. It couldn’t be.

It wasn’t that Vegeta had a crush on him. Right?

There was no way. Vegeta had been nothing but hostile to Yamcha for years—what could possibly have changed? No, that wasn’t what happened, Yamcha was sure of it.

Although there _was_ a part of him that found it made sense. Suddenly realising that he wanted to spend more time with someone and immediately rushing off to find that person _was_ a Vegeta thing to do. And he _did_ spend all his time hanging around Yamcha when he wasn’t training. And he was surprisingly less dickish to Yamcha than usual lately.

He flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Well, even on the off chance that that _was_ the case, it was never going to happen. Even if Vegeta did have a crush on Yamcha, the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Yamcha was worried about Vegeta, though. Where had he gone after their fight? He didn’t go back to Capsule Corp, did he? Maybe he was sleeping in a tree in a park somewhere. Maybe he’d gotten arrested and Yamcha and Bulma would have to bail him out.

Maybe he wouldn’t come back at all.

Yamcha turned over and pulled the covers over his head. For some reason, he hated that option the most.

~~~

As it turned out, he didn’t have to worry about Vegeta not coming back, because he was on Yamcha’s balcony the next morning. “What are you doing?” Yamcha muttered, too tired to be angry. “Get in here; this is the fourth floor for crying out loud. If the neighbors see you they’re gonna be pissed.”

Vegeta sauntered into the apartment, hands in his pockets, casual as anything. He ran a judgemental eye over Yamcha. “You look like shit.”

“And whose fault is that,” Yamcha grumbled, turning and heading for the kitchen. “Want to tell me what all that was about last night?”

“No.” Vegeta flopped onto the couch, watching Yamcha move slowly around the kitchen. “Are you going to make yakizakana again?”

Yamcha tossed a box of cereal at Vegeta. “If you’re hungry, eat that. I don’t have the energy to cook today.”

“Why not?”

He turned to Vegeta to start lecturing him— _I don’t just exist to cook for you, you bastard_ —but stopped at the look on Vegeta’s face. It wasn’t the face of a spoiled prince upset that he wasn’t going to get his favourite breakfast. It was the face of someone genuinely concerned about the person they were talking to. Yamcha’s face warmed and he turned away to grab the tea kettle. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well.”

Vegeta didn’t say anything, and Yamcha heard him open the cereal box and rummage through it. He sighed. He was more than a little relieved that Vegeta had come back, if only because he was sure that if left to his own devices he’d probably wreak havoc around town. Or he’d go back to Bulma.

Yamcha suddenly felt nauseous. He blinked and the feeling passed.

“I’ll be right back.”

Yamcha turned just in time to see Vegeta blasting off from his balcony, cereal box forgotten on the couch. He sank to the floor. Oh, good. This would end well.

~~~

“Vegeta,” Yamcha said with as much patience as he could, “what the _fuck_.”

“What?” Vegeta asked. “You don’t have energy. The beans give energy. He controls the beans.”

Korin struggled in Vegeta’s grip. “Put me down!”

“Vegeta, _seriously_.” Yamcha’s head throbbed. “I can’t deal with this right now. I’m so sorry, Master Korin.”

“Take me back home and I’ll never speak of this again.”

Vegeta shook him. “Give him a bean.”

“I don’t have any! You could’ve just taken a bean if that’s what you wanted!”

“I don’t need a senzu, Vegeta.” Yamcha held out his arms. “Stop pestering Korin. Give him to me so I can take him home.”

“But Yamcha—”

There it was again, the little flip-flop Yamcha’s heart did when Vegeta said his name. “No buts.”

Grumbling, Vegeta handed Korin over. “See if I ever do anything nice for you again.”

“What—this—” Yamcha looked from Vegeta to Korin and back. “This was you being _nice_?”

Vegeta dropped into the armchair and refused to look at Yamcha.

Yamcha took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. We’ll talk when I get back. Let’s go, Master Korin.”

~~~

“So Vegeta,” Yamcha said, walking into the apartment, and that was as far as he got before he was drowned out by the smoke alarm from the kitchen. His eyes widened and he rushed into the apartment, skidding to a stop in the kitchen doorway. Vegeta and Puar were frantically fanning the smoke around the detector, Vegeta with oven mitts, Puar by turning into an actual fan. There was a smoking pot in the sink and a mess all over the stove and countertop. “What the hell happened?!” Yamcha exclaimed, rushing forward to help.

“Sorry, Yamcha,” Puar coughed. “We were just trying to make soup and—”

“You know what, never mind, I don’t want to know.” Yamcha hurried off to open the apartment window.

Puar followed him, the smoke mostly cleared by now. “It was Vegeta’s idea,” she told him quietly. “He wanted to make something for you to make you feel better, and I suggested soup.”

Yamcha glanced at her. “He…wanted to make me feel better?”

“Well, that’s not what he _said_ , but I’m pretty sure it’s what he meant.” She shrugged. “I think he was trying to be nice.”

“If his idea of being nice is kidnapping people and nearly losing me my security deposit,” Yamcha said, “I wish he’d go back to being a jerk.”

She swatted his shoulder. “You don’t mean that. Go talk to him.”

Yamcha shook his head. His brain was a whirlwind of confusion. That was twice today that Vegeta had randomly decided to try being nice to him. He’d been nothing but horrible to Yamcha until now—what had changed?

Except when Yamcha thought about it, that wasn’t entirely true. Vegeta had only said good things about his cooking. He’d offered to train Yamcha the other day. There were times when Vegeta would say something with such raw honesty that Yamcha felt like he’d either been blessed or punched in the gut. Possibly both.

But he still had so many questions. Why was Vegeta suddenly being nicer than usual? And _why the hell was he here_?

“Yamcha.”

Yamcha flinched. Vegeta was right in front of him, holding two steaming cups of tea and wearing an expression that would have looked sheepish on anyone else. “I made tea.”

“Oh.” Tentatively, Yamcha reached out and Vegeta handed him one of the teacups. “Thanks.”

Vegeta smiled, and it was a little proud, a little smug—it wouldn’t be Vegeta’s smile without that. But there was a genuineness to it that brought a blush to Yamcha’s face.

Had Vegeta always been this attractive? He could definitely see why Bulma had hooked up with him now.

Yamcha sipped at his tea and forced back his automatic grimace. Vegeta had used boiling water and burnt the leaves, then let it steep too long. But he’d tried, goddamnit, and for Yamcha that was good enough for now.

~~~

Yamcha could recognize that bald head a mile away. He quickly caught up with the man and tapped his shoulder. “Tien?”

Tien froze, then looked down at Yamcha. “H-hey.”

“It _is_ you!” Yamcha grinned and slugged him in the arm. “I’ve missed you, man! What happened to your whole ‘this is the last time we’ll see each other’ bullshit?”

“I, uh.” Tien’s eyes darted around, looking for an escape. Yamcha’s smile faded. “I wasn’t planning on seeing anyone here—it’s a crowded city and—not that it’s not good to see you,” he hastily added. “I’ve missed you too. But—after Cell—I just couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry.” Yamcha waved him off. “It’s over, you’re forgiven. You have to promise not to go off by yourself forever, though. At least come over for dinner tonight or something. Bring Chiaotzu; it’ll be fun.”

“Well, I—I wouldn’t want to impose,” Tien said formally.

“Dude.” Yamcha folded his arms. “You’re my best friend, after Puar. You’re not imposing. Come on, it’s been, what, a year since we last saw each other? A year and a half? We need to get caught up with each other. I’ll make gyouza!”

Tien bit his lip, and Yamcha knew he was seriously considering it—he could never turn down an offer of gyouza. “I’ll talk to Chiaotzu,” he finally said.

“Great!” Yamcha beamed. “I’m still in the same apartment as last time; I’ll expect you guys around six.” He patted Tien on the arm and started to head off to do the rest of his groceries when he suddenly remembered something. “Oh, yeah, by the way. Vegeta’ll be there.”

“What?” Tien’s nose wrinkled. “Why?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. Anyway, he’ll be there too, if that’s okay.”

Tien squinted at him and Yamcha squirmed under his three-eyed scrutiny. “You aren’t sleeping with him, are you?”

Yamcha squawked and went tomato-red. “What?! No! We’re not—it’s not like that! I mean he’s good-looking and all but—Tien, I have _standards_!”

Tien didn’t look like he believed him, but he nodded. “Alright. Your place at six.”

~~~

“Well.” Yamcha tapped his foot, arms folded, and sent Vegeta the dirtiest glare he could muster. “You wanna explain what the hell _that_ was all about?”

Vegeta shrugged. “I’d think it was obvious.”

Yamcha rubbed his temples. He was starting to get a headache. “No, it really isn’t.” This whole back-and-forth between Jerkass Vegeta and Less Jerkass Vegeta was driving him up the wall. He’d been so… _good_ earlier. Or at least he’d been trying to be. He was making a real effort. Then when Yamcha told him Tien was coming over he immediately got passive-aggressive. (Yamcha supposed passive-aggressive was a step up from completely-aggressive, but _still_.) He insisted on sitting next to Yamcha at the cramped, crowded table (that was _not_ built to seat five people, even if two of them were small). Every time Tien mentioned something about his training, Vegeta made sure to remind everyone who the strongest in the room was. At one point, to Yamcha’s great embarrassment, he demanded to know whether Tien and Yamcha were secretly dating. When a confused Tien replied that no, they’d never dated, Vegeta nodded and told him to keep it that way.

All in all, what _should_ have been a nice evening to catch up with friends turned very awkward very fast. And it was all Vegeta’s fault.

“I was just reminding everyone who the strongest man on your pathetic planet is,” Vegeta said with a shrug. “It’s me. I’m the strongest.”

“We _know_ , Vegeta.” Yamcha scowled. “We know. We get it. We’re the puny, weak humans and you’re the prince of all Saiyans. You can stop rubbing it in our faces now.”

Vegeta looked confused. “I wasn’t rubbing it in.”

“Really? Because it sure felt like you were.” Yamcha shook his head. “I’m cleaning up from dinner and going to bed. It’s late. I’d suggest you did the same, but I mean. You’re just _too strong_ to listen to anyone. A strong, independent Saiyan who don’t need no man. Well if you’re so _strong_ , why are you here in the first place? Why aren’t you off training by yourself in the woods somewhere? Clearly none of the rest of us can keep up with the _strongest man on our pathetic planet_.”

Vegeta waited, arms crossed. “Are you done?”

Yamcha deflated and turned away. “I guess, yeah.”

“Then _listen up_.” Vegeta grabbed a handful of Yamcha’s shirt and yanked him backwards. Yamcha stumbled back with a yelp, smacking straight into Vegeta. “I _wasn’t_ rubbing it in, Yamcha, whatever you might think,” Vegeta growled. “I was trying to prove a point.”

“What, that you’re the strongest? We all got that, thanks—”

“No!” Vegeta shoved Yamcha away. “I’m the more desirable mate! Not Tien! Me! Do you understand?”

“You’re the—” Yamcha balked. “Vegeta, what the _fuck_.”

“You say that a lot.”

Yamcha threw his hands up in defeat and turned away. “I don’t even care anymore. I’m cleaning up the kitchen and going to bed. This is why they left early, you _asshole_.”

“Yamcha, you’re overreacting.”

“Fuck off, Vegeta.” Yamcha glared over his shoulder. “Leave me alone.”

Vegeta puffed himself up and for a brief, terrifying moment, Yamcha thought he was about to go Super Saiyan. But instead he narrowed his eyes. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “And here I thought I was being _obvious_.”

Yamcha ignored him and started clearing the table. If Vegeta wanted to keep being a jerk, _fine_. It was more of what Yamcha was used to.

But, he thought as he saw Vegeta storm over to the couch and cocoon himself in his blanket (and when had it started being _Vegeta’s_ blanket instead of _Yamcha’s blanket that Vegeta was using_ ), it had been nice while it lasted.

~~~

His room was too hot.

Yamcha was on top of the covers, shirtless, and sweating buckets. He couldn’t open the window because it was rusted shut and the building super never returned his calls. He had to sleep with the door closed because if Vegeta decided to murder him in the night, hopefully the squeaky hinges would give Yamcha enough of a headstart that he could escape.

In short, he was hot, and sticky, and stuck.

Puar didn’t seem to be having the same problem, despite being literally covered in fur. She was curled up at the foot of the bed, sound asleep. Yamcha shot her an envious glare. It wasn’t _fair_.

Finally, he made himself get up. Maybe Vegeta was asleep and he could sneak into the kitchen and get a cold drink.

And while he was at it, maybe he’d walk out the door and the apartment would have transformed into a full-on luxury suite.

He snuck into the kitchen, glancing at the couch on the way by. Vegeta’s form didn’t move and Yamcha breathed a sigh of relief. He plucked a glass from the cupboard and started filling it with tap water when a sound caught his attention. Slowly, he turned and saw Vegeta’s eyes staring dully at him through the darkness.

Caught, Yamcha grinned sheepishly and raised a hand in greeting. “H-hey.”

Vegeta made a muffled grunt and turned away again.

So he _was_ still upset. Yamcha carefully crept over to him. “You awake?” he whispered.

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Vegeta grumbled. He sat up to make room for Yamcha on the couch, drawing his knees to his chest. Yamcha stared in surprise for a moment before sitting down. Of all the possible outcomes to this scenario, this was probably the one he’d deemed least likely, including the one involving being kidnapped by aliens.

Although, considering Vegeta’s ancestry, it wasn’t completely outside the realm of possibility yet.

Yamcha cleared his throat. “So,” he said, “when was the last time you talked to Bulma?” Dammit, that wasn’t what he wanted to ask at all. He had a million questions, and that one was a low priority one.

“Last night.”

Yamcha paused. “What?”

“So I went to Capsule Corp last night.” Vegeta shrugged. “What about it? It’s not like I could come back _here_ after what happened.”

“Didn’t stop you this morning,” Yamcha shot back. He was going to throw up. He felt like he’d been cheated on, even though—even though _Bulma_ was the one Vegeta was supposed to be with, not him. It wasn’t like they were together or anything. “So why’d you bother coming back then?”

Vegeta hunched his shoulders. “I didn’t go back to _stay_. I always intended to come back here. I just didn’t think I’d be welcome.”

“What, so you decided that since I was pissed you’d actually go back to the person you’re _supposed_ to be with?” Yamcha shook his head and drank some of his water before he said anything else stupid. He sounded like a jilted lover.

“No, that’s—I had to talk to her.”

“Oh, that’s just _swell_. You’ll talk to Bulma, but not me.” He sounded stupid, he knew he did. Vegeta was Bulma’s boyfriend—of course he’d talk to her instead of Yamcha. Maybe Yamcha was just tired.

“Yamcha.” Yamcha’s mouth went dry and he quickly swallowed the rest of his water. Why was Vegeta saying his name so _good_? “I had to talk to her about _you_.”

If that didn’t throw Yamcha for the biggest loop of his life, he didn’t know what would. “Me?”

He half expected Vegeta to sneer and make a snide comment about actually being the topic of conversation, but he didn’t. Instead he shrugged. “I didn’t know who else to talk to.”

“What—” Yamcha swallowed. “What did you talk about?”

“You. I just said that.”

“Looking for a _slightly_ more specific answer than that.” Yamcha’s heart pounded in his chest. He set his glass aside and turned to properly face Vegeta. Light from the streetlamp outside poured in through the window, illuminating Vegeta’s face. It was closed-off, drawn tight, but Vegeta opened his mouth and spoke anyway. “Why’d you want to talk about me? You hate me. You think I’m weak and unworthy of your attention. So why did you want to spend time with me?”

“I…don’t hate you.”

Yamcha waited, but Vegeta didn’t elaborate. “Um. Thanks?”

“I’d rather spend time with you than her. When I realised that, I didn’t want to stay at Capsule Corp anymore, so I came here instead.”

“In the middle of the night? You just…flew off in the middle of the night? Because you wanted to see me?”

Vegeta glared. “Yeah. And?”

“I’m not sure why I’m surprised,” Yamcha muttered.

“Listen, the _point_ is that I—I don’t hate you, do you understand? I don’t hate you but I didn’t know _how_ I felt about you, and the only person I could think of to help was—was her.” His body got more and more relaxed as he spoke, then suddenly his limbs snapped up around himself again. “But if you’d rather spend time with _Tien_ instead, then I guess—”

“Oh don’t even go there. Tien and I have been friends for longer than you’ve been on this planet.”

“I don’t like him.”

“I don’t think he likes you either.”

Vegeta leaned forward. “You want proof that I don’t hate you?” he growled. He abandoned the blanket and crawled forward, practically hovering over Yamcha. “Want me to prove it _right now_?” His hand found its way to Yamcha’s bare shoulder and Yamcha suddenly realised that Vegeta wasn’t wearing his borrowed t-shirt either.

“Yeah,” Yamcha said, and it came out quieter than he meant for it to. He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said again, louder, more confrontationally, “prove it.”

Vegeta lunged and their mouths crashed together, and Yamcha had assumed this would happen but he was still caught off guard. His hands fumbled and grabbed Vegeta’s shoulders, and it took him a moment to realise he was being roughly shoved into the couch. The hand gripping Yamcha’s shoulder moved to his hair and _pulled_ , and when Yamcha gasped Vegeta took the opportunity to stick his tongue in his mouth. It took all of Yamcha’s strength and self-control to wrench them apart.

“Is that enough ‘proof’ for you?” Vegeta growled in his ear. Yamcha shuddered. That was hotter than it had any right to be.

“You…” Yamcha struggled to get his breath back. “How…how long have…you wanted…to do that?”

“Since four days ago, at two in the morning.”

Yamcha stared down at him. “Seriously? _That’s_ why you just—showed up here? You wanted to—make out with me?”

“I want to do a hell of a lot more than just make out.” Vegeta leaned forward again and Yamcha slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Okay, hold on, just, wait a second.” Yamcha squeezed his eyes shut when Vegeta tugged on his hair again. “Nnnnnnnh Vegeta, wait. You’re telling me that—you—you were trying to—be nice because—”

Vegeta slapped Yamcha’s hand away. “You obviously can’t seem to grasp this so let me spell it out for you. I. Do not. Hate you. I was _being nice_ to you because I don’t hate you. I went to talk to Bulma because I don’t hate you and she helped me figure out _why_. I want to _fuck_ you because—” He faltered. “I don’t hate you.”

Yamcha swallowed and felt blood drain from his face. “You love me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, I guess you didn’t.” Yamcha leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling, trying to clear his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…okay. We can—we can try.”

Vegeta was immediately on him again, kissing him roughly and pressing as close to him as he could. One hand rubbed across his bare chest and Yamcha grabbed at Vegeta’s hair, running his fingers through it before giving a gentle tug. Vegeta moaned and returned the gesture. Yamcha let himself grin into the kiss. So the prince of all Saiyans had a thing for hair-pulling. Interesting.

Yamcha slid his hands up Vegeta’s sides and over the toned muscles of his abdomen. Vegeta actually shivered, then he was immediately all over Yamcha, mouth on his neck, hands _everywhere_ , hips rolling against Yamcha’s. And suddenly it hit Yamcha what they were about to do and he struggled against Vegeta. “Wait, Vegeta, we should—”

“No.” Vegeta bit down on Yamcha’s neck.

“I just—”

“You said we could _try_. Now you want to stop. Make up your mind.”

“I don’t want to help you cheat on Bulma!” Yamcha stared up at Vegeta, scarcely illuminated in the streetlamp light, eyebrows drawn together. “I won’t be the other man, Vegeta. Bulma deserves— _I_ deserve—better than that.”

Vegeta leaned down to look directly into Yamcha’s eyes. “We are not mates.”

Yamcha paused. “What?”

“We. Are not. Mates. Bulma and I were never mates. She has a steady girlfriend now.”

“A _what_?!”

“A girlfriend. You know.” Vegeta rubbed his nose. “The sneezing woman.”

“Launch?” Yamcha hadn’t even known Bulma was interested in women. Then again, he’d never told her he was interested in men. “Oh.”

“So no, I’m not cheating on her. Can we get back to the _fun_ part now?” He rolled his hips forward again and Yamcha gasped.

“O-okay.” He cursed himself for stammering, but it was short-lived as Vegeta tugged his hair and shoved their mouths together again. This time Yamcha was the one who ground his hips against Vegeta’s, and they were wearing too many clothes, and hadn’t Yamcha originally come out of his room because he was too hot? And suddenly their pants were in a pile on the floor and Vegeta’s hand was in Yamcha’s boxers, palming and stroking and rubbing and Yamcha whined and thrust his hips up, clutching Vegeta’s head. Vegeta latched onto his neck with a bite and Yamcha clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out.

It was rougher sex than Yamcha was used to, but he didn’t care, he didn’t _care_ , he wanted all of it and more. Dimly, he noticed that he wasn’t wearing underwear anymore, and neither was Vegeta, and he had a sneaking suspicion they’d been torn off by an impatient Saiyan, but Vegeta had a hand around both of them and was stroking and grinding and Yamcha was too dizzy to care.

Vegeta wasn’t a talkative lover, but he wasn’t quiet either. He grunted and moaned and occasionally ground out a word or two (“harder,” “there,” “so good,” “ _Yamcha,_ ”). Yamcha filled in the spaces. “Vegeta, yes, come on, I’m so—so _close_ , Vegeta, please, _Vegeta_ —”

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut as he came, arching his back before collapsing back against the couch again. Vegeta slowed down, watching him. “ _Fuck,_ ” Yamcha panted.

Vegeta grinned. “Yep.” And he ground against Yamcha again.

“Wait, wait, hold on.” Yamcha pushed to sit up. “Let me do something.”

The grin dropped off Vegeta’s face. “What, so now that you’re satisfied, you’re just going to—”

“I never said I was going to leave you like this.” Yamcha reached down and gave Vegeta a quick stroke. Vegeta’s head fell forward and he groaned. “Here, move like this for a minute.”

Vegeta was clearly confused, but he complied, sitting properly on the couch with Yamcha on the floor between his legs. Understanding suddenly dawned on his face. “You’re not—”

Except yes, Yamcha was, leaning forward to suck Vegeta into his mouth, and Vegeta gave a contented sigh and leaned back against the couch cushions, one hand tangled in Yamcha’s hair again. He tugged and pulled and guided as Yamcha bobbed and licked and sucked, and if he’d been nonverbal before, he was the opposite now.

“Yamcha,” he mumbled, hazy, quiet. “Yamcha,” again, louder, more desperate. Yamcha felt the warm thing in his chest whenever he heard Vegeta say his name, only this time, with Vegeta moaning it in ecstasy, it was even _better_. “Faster, Yamcha, come on,” his hand squeezed in his hair, “Yamcha, fuck, it’s good, _Yamcha_ —fuck!”

Yamcha gagged when Vegeta came, pulling away and coughing, swallowing without thinking and wiping his face. Oh, that was _gross_. Vegeta sprawled across the couch, chest heaving, looking thoroughly blissed out. Yamcha stood and started to make for the bathroom to clean up, but Vegeta’s hand snatched his wrist. “Where you goin’?” he slurred.

“Just cleaning up—”

“No.” Vegeta yanked and Yamcha collapsed on top of him with a barely suppressed shriek. “Stay.”

Yamcha squirmed. “We really should get cleaned up—”

Vegeta’s hand landed on his upper back. “Stay.”

And Yamcha did.


End file.
